


SHIELD Archive: 0-8-4-107

by dncingthrghlife



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America (Movies) RPF, Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Comic Book Science, Fictional Realism, Gen, Multiple Endings, Multiple Universes Colliding, POV First Person, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4038394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dncingthrghlife/pseuds/dncingthrghlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Chris teaches Steve to tap dance and Seb washes Bucky's hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 4/21/13, 0900-1030

**\--BEGIN TRANSCRIPT--**

**The Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 0900**

_Evans, Christopher Robert_

Did I know my world was going to end when I woke up? No. Most actors don’t expect that when they plan to be on set at six in the morning after a long night of shooting.  All I wanted was some tea, a protein bar and a nice chat with the hair and makeup crew. I got all three and figured it was going to be a good day.

Now, just so you’re aware, Agent Hill, the last time that I checked my phone was before I went over in a golf cart to the Smithsonian exhibit soundstage. And I assure you, nothing strange or abnormal occurred—no sudden solar flares or any news articles about the Space-Time Continuum collapsing. From my point of view, it was simply going to be an average day.

I would say it was about nine o’clock at that point.

I remember getting there and being immediately overwhelmed by the flurry of activity. From my understanding, they weren’t ready with the lights yet. That meant I had a lot more downtime than I had originally anticipated. I would’ve just gone back to my trailer, but the golf cart driver had already taken off. Mind you, I have nothing against walking, but the trailer was on the other side of Raleigh Studios and I already knew that I was going to be working late into the night. I decided it was best to find somewhere to hang out while they finished.

I spotted a group of extras paling around the catering table at the far end of the soundstage so I went over to see if they knew any more about the situation than I did. I gathered from a few that had been there for a while that Mr. Opaloch (the cinematographer) wasn’t too keen on the first lighting scheme and was having the rigging guys hurriedly try to fix it.

That was also when I met with Dante Rosaline and his mom. He was going to be playing a star-struck kid that I bump into at the Captain America exhibit. Dante was way too energetic for that early in the morning, but I still gave him my full attention. We ended up creating an elaborate handshake that I unfortunately forgot as soon as I left the group of extras twenty minutes later.

For some reason I was struck by a sudden curiosity about the set and wanted to go investigate.

It seemed that Sebastian had the same idea because I immediately noticed him sitting up against a wall in a darkened corner of the exhibit. His eyes looked even more sunken in than usual and his hair looked absolutely appalling. That meant he had already visited the hair and makeup department. I walked over, trying not to get in the crew’s way and stopped deliberately in front of his deadpan stare.

“I know you’re trying to shed your mysterious bad-boy image, but sitting alone in a dark corner is not helping matters.”

Sebastian cracked a smile then and looked up with more energy in his expression. He gave an exasperated huff and said, “No, man. I’m just really tired. Wanted to get away from it all, you know? Plus, it’s a little quieter over here.”

I couldn’t help but agree. The sound was almost muffled in this area. I turned and pressed my back up against the wall then slid down to join him on the floor.

“Yeah, I hate Mondays.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and sent me a half-hearted chuckle. “You know, pretty soon they won’t even have to put makeup on me because I’ll already look like a sleep-deprived assassin.”

“Wow, hadn’t pegged you for a method actor.”

“Nah,” he ran his hand through his stringy long hair and grimaced, “I just can’t seem to sleep. You know what I mean?”

I did. The months of physical preparation could never prepare you for the mental and emotional exhaustion from doing such a laborious shoot on a film like this.  Lately, though, it was getting worse so I completely understood where he was coming from. Sleep seemed to be as elusive as ever for me.

“You could try meditation.” I suggested.

He answered with a thoughtful shrug and began to fiddle with a baseball cap that was perched on his bent knee. It was then that I realized that he was wearing his metal arm. It was definitely a new edition from the props department and I still hadn’t gotten used to seeing it on him. Of course, there wasn’t much to see because the majority of it was covered by his worn jacket. His chrome-covered left hand was the only thing that looked out of place from his manufactured disheveled appearance.

I scooted closer and nudged his left shoulder then gave a pointed look to the arm in question. “I didn’t know they were having you wear it for the end credits scene.”

He raised his left hand and turned it slowly so it could catch the light. “Yeah, me neither. But Joe was thinking of doing a close up of it as a final shot. I don’t know, though. If I was trying to be incognito, I wouldn’t try to flash this thing in public, you know?”

I chuckled, following his logic. “Is it the heavier one?” I only asked since he had two designed for him: one that was lighter yet not as realistically form-fitting and another that was better looking but significantly heftier.

He nodded and dropped his hand back to his lap. A moment of silence fell between us. It was calming even though the rigging crew were barking orders at each and the lights were shifting all around us. I’m sure that us sitting there was a lawsuit just waiting to happen (because the studio couldn’t very well have the equipment fall on us and thus have us break our contracts), but I didn’t care. I had an oddest sense of an out-of-body experience. It was like I didn’t recognize where I was. Which was silly, because I knew that I was on set at a movie studio in Manhattan Beach.

“So…meditation?” Sebastian awkwardly broke the halted conversation.

I smiled, trying to mask the uneasiness of my thoughts. Unfortunately, this also meant that I was in the perfect state to start babbling. “Yeah, just go through relaxing each part of your body and when you feel like you could sink into the ground, focus on the direction of your thoughts without trying to control them. I always try to picture myself at the end of the day with the feeling that I’ve accomplished something. But sometimes I like to see where my thoughts go and try to discover what is subconsciously bothering me. Maybe that’ll help?”

Sebastian stared at me with a raised eyebrow. A beat passed. “Dude, I know how to meditate. I was just wondering if you’d let me chill for a few minutes.”

I appreciated his comic timing but at that moment, I wondered if I was the one that needed the meditation. I think I said something along the lines of “Sure, knock yourself out. I think I’ll join you,” because the next thing I knew, my eyes were closed to the world around me. I mean, I could still see the glow of the spotlights moving behind my eyelids and I could sense the shape of Sebastian’s metal arm up against my right shoulder, but I knew that I was in my own dimension.  

The lights began to move more slowly as my thoughts scattered and ran from my family to my hotel room to tomorrow’s scenes to Cap watching _Star Wars_ for the first time. Then it was like the floodgate opened. As soon as started thinking about my character, my thoughts began to snowball.  The lights became more stationary and the voices in the room were no longer boisterous. But then a peace came over me that I didn’t even know was humanly possible to feel. I stayed there, luxuriating in it. I wondered if it was Nirvana.

Hours, years, centuries may have passed and I wouldn’t have noticed. When I realized this, I took a deep calculated breath to slowly work myself out of my mediated state and was immediately surprised by the amount of humidity in the air.

This realization was compounded by the fact that someone had suddenly tripped over my crossed legs. I was startled into awareness and quickly glanced up to see  who it was.

It was Dante Rosaline. He staggered and scrambled to say, “I’m so sorry, mister.”

I chuckled a bit and stretched my legs out to stand up. “It’s okay, Dante. No harm, no foul.” I had to brace myself against the wall because my feet were suddenly unsteady. It felt as though my center of gravity was skewed. As I straightened myself, I looked out over the exhibit to locate Mrs. Rosaline or the Child Wrangler.

“Where’s your mom? I think she’d be worried if she knew you were over here.”

Dante gave me a questioning look before his expression became instantly slack-jawed. “You’re…you’re—”

“There you are!” His mother said in a hurry. She seemed to appear all of a sudden and was more frantic than when I last saw her a half an hour ago. She hugged Dante to her side and stared at me like she had never met me.

I instantly felt a trickle of trepidation sink into my stomach. Something was not right.  

Mrs. Rosaline squinted down at Sebastian sitting on the floor, looking like a homeless man and did little to mask her apprehension at his appearance. She turned Dante around by his shoulders and ushered him in the opposite direction toward the exit of the exhibit without so much as a cursory glance back.

“Well that was awkward.” Sebastian said dryly. He dusted off his pants as he stood up to join me in looking around at the strange new world we were unexpectedly a part of.

For it was in that moment that we both realized that the extras that were filing through the displays were actual patrons and that the set was an actual museum.

The Captain America Smithsonian exhibit that we were standing in was _real_.

I looked Sebastian dead in the eye and I could see that he knew exactly what I was thinking: we had inexplicably found ourselves in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

**The Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 1000**

_Stan, Sebastian_

I’ll have you know that I appreciate sci-fi flicks. I do. They blow my mind and get me to think about what’s out there. But never in a million years did I actually think that I’d ever get to be in one. I mean, I never thought that I’d be living and breathing in J.J. Abrams’ wet-dream of a parallel universe. (Do you guys even _have_ J.J. Abrams over here, or is that just an “Other Side”-type of thing?)

Anyway, to say that I was shocked would be an understatement. I don’t think there is a word existing that accurately describes the combination of confusion, awe and what-the-fuck-just-happened-to-me that was spiraling throughout my head.

All I really remember is walking through the set-turned-real-life-Smithsonian in a daze. There were so many details that I wasn’t able to fully process. There were times that I reached out to feel if a display was solid and real. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Chris doing the same thing. Except he seemed to be taking it in a lot better than I was.

I could feel my pulse was beginning to pick up and my breathing was starting to shallow out.

I had never had a panic attack before, but I knew that I didn’t want to do it for the first time in a parallel universe/figment of an elaborate hallucination. So I reached out and gripped Chris by the sleeve then shoved the baseball cap in my hands on my head to give me something tangible to cling to.

Chris looked over at me and he understood without me having to say anything. He suffers from occasional anxiety attacks, so he knew the signs. He didn’t put on a big show about what I was going through. He was just there for silent support.

It was nice and a much needed comfort. I wanted to try to articulate my gratitude, but I couldn’t form the words. Instead, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then I took about ten more to my pulse to slow back down. Chris sent me a reassuring smile and patted me brotherly on the shoulder. Then he got a glint in his eye and proceeded to slap the left side of my chest in a customary demonstration of his excitement. I usually shoot him a dirty look when he does that but at that moment in time, I just grinned. Of all things, Chris’ infamous boob-grab was just what I needed. (Believe me, I was surprised too.)

There was a sudden rush of giddiness when I finally got over myself and noticed the gaudy display of the Howling Commandos’ uniforms. Seeing them presented in museum lighting made the whole experience like a surreal version of seeing Sleeping Beauty’s Castle in Disneyland for the first time.

If I was indeed hallucinating the whole thing, then I was doing a damn good job of it.

At this, I felt a new appreciation for this unusual turn of events and found myself twisting like an overeager nerd, trying to take in all of the historical elements of the Captain America exhibit. Luckily, I wasn’t the only one geeking-out because Chris fed off of my sudden excitement and nudged me when we turned around to see the Bucky Barnes display.

There was an overhead narration that played on a loop. I already knew it from the script, but it still didn’t take away from the fact that it was _real_. 

I walked up close, secretly wanting to press my nose up against the blue glass in order to breathe in a part of my character. (I realize that that sounds dumb, but I’m just telling it like it happened.)

I turned back to ask Chris what he thought of it when I realized that it wasn’t Chris who was behind me.

My mouth went dry when as I realized I was face-to-face with Captain America himself.

He was reading the display intently with a fixed gaze. I wanted to run. I wanted to stay and talk to him. I wanted to be in a million different places at once, but my feet wouldn’t move. I felt my pulse pick up again when I thought about those sci-fi flicks that I mentioned earlier and I realized that nothing good would come by me standing there.

But, as luck would have it, I never got my opportunity to save the Space-Time Continuum.

Because right then Steve Rogers stared at me with seventy years’ worth of distance in his eyes and breathed, “Bucky?”

He instinctually pulled his hands out of his jacket pockets and reached out in a motion to touch my face with an unreadable expression.

The sudden reality of what was happening flared up through my throat and I gulped. Up until that point, the movie world had appeared with a haze of fantasy—it was easy enough to assume that it could be real because it simply looked and felt like a vivid dream. Of course, I was also a little bit in the mindset that I was possibly concocting  the whole thing as a complex hallucination. It was certainly easier to believe that than the truth.

And at that moment the “truth” was literally staring right at me in the face and was about to make physical contact.

I had a gut reaction and flinched away, trying to school my features. My eyes shot up to lock with Chris’ when I spotted him standing flabbergasted behind his doppelgänger.

Steve Rogers noticed my response and froze. I could see he was working through about a million things a second because he started to subtly survey his surroundings. That was when he pivoted around and came face-to-face with Chris for the first time. He took a step back and appeared way too nonchalant for a man who just saw himself and his dead best friend standing together in the same room.

We formed an uncomfortable triangle in the middle of the Captain America exhibit. Looking back, I’m surprised that no one in the museum seemed alarmed by our behavior. (Is that just another “Other Side” thing?)

As dramatic as it sounds, the world around us went on spinning while ours fell apart in front of our eyes.

It felt like hours passed before Steve Rogers spoke up.

“So I take it Stark finally invented time-travel?”

**Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 1030**

_Cpt. Rogers, Steven Grant_

At 0900 I reported to Dir. Fury’s office for a debriefing on the Lumerian Star mission. The meeting ended on a sour note after Dir. Fury  disclosed information about a new classified project that I did not particularly agree with.

On days like these—when I truly feel the enormity of my place in this future—I like to check in with the faces from my past. As painful as it is relive, I cherish the life that bursts through the photographs of the men that I had once called friends. Even though the color of their smiles are now long gone, there are times that I need to remind myself that they still existed--even if they are simply shadows captured in black and white. Smithsonian officials had contacted me a month prior about giving a commemoration speech for the grand opening, but I had declined. It was simply too personal and I was and never have been much for the fanfare that comes with this political position.

That morning, my motives for visiting the exhibit were entirely selfish. I had hoped that it would give me what the SHIELD therapists had called “closure.”

Yet, in a strange twist of fate, I got more than I ever could have hoped for. As impossible as it sounds, I left the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum with myself and Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes at my side.

I will admit that I was initially compromised at the moment that I realized that Sgt. Barnes was alive. However, I believe that Dep. Dir.  Hill and Dir. Fury will be pleased to know that I _compartmentalized_ my shock immediately and set to work on figuring out a secure location for the two presumed time-travelers. I believe that Dep. Dir. Hill and Dir. Fury will also be pleased to know that I took the liberty to conduct a mental inventory of the pair’s appearance:

  *          Sgt. Barnes wore modern threadbare civilian attire [boots, jeans, shirt and a heavy jacket] and a nondescript baseball cap. His hair was shoulder-length and unkempt. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was covered in two-day-old scruff.  [On a personal note, it was clear that he had been on the receiving end of a lot of sleepless nights.]
  *          The man who looked identical to me wore the same outfit I was wearing at the time [black sneakers, jeans, white t-shirt and wind breaker]. He did not wear a baseball cap like I did. [If he had, I believe we would have been impossible to tell apart.]
  *          Additionally, the two were strangely quiet  as we walked out. [This was my second indicator that something was off because Bucky could never last five minutes without speaking his mind.]



When I suggested that we find a suitable place to talk in private, they had complied without saying a word. They simply shared a significant look with each other and followed me out down Independence Avenue towards the parking garage. 

We walked a few paces before I broached the subject of possible destinations for our impending conversation. When I brought up taking them back to my apartment, my double finally spoke:

“Your…uh…your house is bugged. We can’t go there.”

Our trio halted on the corner of 7th Avenue. Sgt. Barnes, in response to what my double said, groaned and rubbed his right hand over his face in dismay. It was the first thing he did that was like his old self. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him make such a familiar reaction.   

As such, I could not help keep the smile off of my face, even as I gave my double a questioning look, “And you would know this, how?”

The man looked back at Sgt. Barnes but he, in return, held his hand out in a motion that said, “You started this, you finish it.” I noted that Sgt. Barnes kept his left hand firmly in his jacket pocket. It was an odd behavior, but it certainly was not the oddest thing that I had seen that day so I did not think too much of it at the time.

My double squared his shoulders and said with an underlying uncertainty, “We can’t… _tell_ … you. But you have to believe us when we say that we can’t go there.” 

“Where, then, do you suppose we go?”

At this, Sgt. Barnes and the man appeared to share a silent conversation that required a lot of exaggerated eye-rolling and some not-so-subtle hand gestures.

Then my double gave me a sympathetic look and asked, “Could you give us a few seconds?”

They did not bother to wait for an answer before turning away to have a verbal conversation. I smirked at their theatrics. Even though they thought they were being sly, I could still easily hear their hurried dialogue over in the mid-morning bustle on the street.

Their conversation went as follows:

            SGT. BARNES: Are you crazy? How could you tell him the house was bugged! He’s not supposed to know until later! You _know_ that! You’re going to mess everything   up!     

            DOUBLE: What’s there left to mess up? Think about it. Just us _being_ here has already changed what’s supposed to happen.

            SGT. BARNES: Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can go around passing out spoiler alerts like free candy!

            DOUBLE: But what if that’s the reason why we’re here? To change the timeline. To make sure things play out differently.

            SGT. BARNES: Okay, I’ll bite. How exactly are we going to do that?

            DOUBLE: Well…first I think we should do this right and go all the way. You know what I mean?

            SGT. BARNES: No, I don’t think I do.

            DOUBLE: I mean, see the sights. You know, the _landmarks_ of this place.

            SGT. BARNES: Oh…I gotcha. Yeah, that would be…safe….Probably the best place to not get attacked by my assassin counterpart….

            DOUBLE: Or maybe it’s the best place _to_ get attacked by him! Think about it! What if that’s why we’re here? To, you know, save his future. Keep him from heading down the wrong path. If we’re gonna be here any longer, we’re bound to run into him at some point.

            SGT. BARNES: When we get back, I’m cancelling your Netflix account. You’ve been watching way too much _Fringe_ and _Doctor Who_ for this to be the most likely solution for you.

            DOUBLE: Oh, says the guy that had a gig on _Once Upon a Time_!

            SGT. BARNES: Whoa, hold up—

            DOUBLE: Anyway, are we going there or what?

            SGT. BARNES: Just a fair warning, I’m getting you back for that comment about my show. You’ll never see me comin’. But sure. Why not? Let’s go take the ultimate fan tour. As they say before any character death, “ _What’s the worst that could happen?_ ” But I swear to God, Chris, if you get me killed, I’m sending the Marvel snipers after you.

Understandably, my interest was piqued throughout their bantering. The two were practically a walking contradiction because they were obviously omniscient yet clearly clueless. Call it a case of my occasionally faulty intuition, but I had not sensed any reason to suspect them as anything other than potential time travelers. I had already seen enough inter-stellar travel to know it was a possibility.

They appeared to reach an unspoken decision because they both finally turned back around.

Then Sgt. Barnes  cleared his throat and spoke with a tentative authority, “We should go to Stark Tower.”

I was a bit surprised by this. “You mean the Stark Tower in New York City?” They both nodded in synchronization. “Well, that’s gonna be a long bus ride. Unless you two have some sort of futuristic teleportation device handy?”

Sgt. Barnes smirked, the corners of lips curving up just like they used to. “No, man, I wish!” Then his familiar face played out a series of unfamiliar expressions before he shared another weighted glance with my double.

It was clear he had carefully chosen his next words: “We are, however, gonna let you in on the secret… We’re not from the future. Well, actually, we kinda are. But that’s not important. We’re, uh, actually from another universe, believe it or not. My name’s Sebastian Stan and this is Chris Evans. In our universe, we’re actors.”

I blinked. That was definitely _not_ the answer that I was expecting.

“Okay, we’re calling Stark.”


	2. 4/21/13, 1100-1230

**The Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 1100**

_Evans, Christopher Robert_

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have said anything about our true selves to the living incarnation of a fictional character. I had thought we could just go in, tell Steve Rogers about Bucky, the Space-Time continuum would swing back to normal so Sebastian and I could click our heels three times and go home. But, I assumed we would do this all while keeping our identities a secret.

However, things being what they were, it was obvious that we had to come clean at some point about the whole parallel universe SNAFU.

Except, there was nothing “Situation: Normal” about any of it. It was more like “Situation: Abnormal,” considering everything that had happened and was going to happen.

Steve made the call to the actual Iron Man via his SHIELD-issued Stark Phone. At that moment, I thought that my life couldn’t get any weirder.

Thankfully, Steve was pretty quick on the uptake, so he was intentionally vague during his conversation with Tony: “Stark? We have a bit of a problem. How quickly can you extract myself and two other civilians from the National Mall and transport us to a safe location?….” The volume was turned low so I couldn’t catch what was being said on the other line, but from the vocal tones I _could_ hear, it sounded like there were a lot of questions being rattled off. “I’m afraid I can’t say anything further right now…. I have reason to believe that this line could be compromised….No, I don’t believe they are an immediate threat to us. I would say that we pose a greater threat to them….How about you meet them for yourself and then we’ll decide whether or not they’re master-assassins or simply failed Double-Oh-Sevens….Yes, I do in fact know who James Bond is….Roger that, T-minus 17 minutes and counting…. I’ll hold you to that.”

He hung up and looked everywhere except at Sebastian and me. Which was just as well; I was still trying to adjust to seeing myself in person and it was much easier when I wasn’t looking him in the eye. There was a strange sense of wrongness about it. I apologize, Agent Hill, but I can’t describe it any further than that. It’s like one of those “You have to be there to know what I’m talking about” moments. I’m sure Steve can describe the sensation much more eloquently than I can.

“Stark says he has a helicopter on standby at Regan that is authorized to land on the lawn of the National Mall. If all goes well, we will be in New York in a little over an hour.”

Sebastian snorted and sent a conspiratorial glance in my direction, “He has a permit to land on the National Mall? How’d he swing that?”

A sudden unrecognizable emotion washed over Steve’s face as he finally looked at Sebastian. It was understandable, considering that he woke up that morning thinking his best friend had been dead for seventy years. Then there was an awkward silence that followed. I didn’t know what to say and I knew that Sebastian certainly didn’t either.

Steve glared at the sidewalk then suddenly turned and walked ahead down 7th Street. He halted momentarily as he ordered, “How about we start making our way towards the extraction site?”  

I hung back to give him some space and tugged on Sebastian’s sleeve to do the same. But then Steve shot back at us as an invitation to come closer, “While we’re walking, perhaps you two could tell me about your alternate universe.”

For obvious reasons, I hesitated. I could feel Sebastian tense next to me, so I knew he was on the same wavelength. We had already said too much about us being actors and I couldn’t imagine the consequences at the time for giving anything else away about our identities.

But since Sebastian went and blew it, I rationalized that we had might as well go all in and tell him every juicy detail.

I stepped up with a confidence I didn’t know I had to walk side-by-side with my fictional twin. Sebastian followed my lead and moved between us to make himself a walking Stan-which.

“Do want the good news or the bad news first?” I asked Steve Rogers.

He smirked and was quick with his comeback, “That depends. How bad is it?”

“Life-altering, paradigm-shifting bad,” Sebastian replied wryly.  

The corners of Steve’s eyes crinkled, like he was trying to hold in a smile.  “Ah, my favorite kind.”

We had made it to a tree-lined park on the corner of the 7th St. section of the National Mall. I looked up at the bright April sky, hoping to see Stark’s helicopter coming toward us. I was trying to stall this conversation as long as possible and the helicopter would’ve made for a wonderful distraction. Because, even though he was being really cavalier about the whole thing, I still wasn’t buying it. I tried to catch Sebastian’s attention again to telegraph how we were going to break the news about Steve’s long-lost, not-so-dead best friend. When that didn’t work, I decided to take the easier route and make it quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Looking back on it, I probably shouldn’t have started it off by saying, “HYDRA has been secretly running SHIELD for the last seventy years.”

I had thought he was going to suddenly look pensive or maybe laugh the whole thing off. I didn’t expect him to actually get _angry_. And when I say angry, I mean, he could’ve given the Hulk  a run for his money. I half-expected him to throw the tree we were standing under.

His eyes flared and his hands tightened. Sebastian and I took our cue and stepped to the side to give him room to process the bombshell.

“What do mean by that?  I’ll be the first to admit that SHIELD may be corrupt, but they are _not_ HYDRA.” Then his face went slack and I knew something had dawned on him. He rounded on us with a shaking fury. “Who are you really working for? You say you’re actors, someone must’ve hired you. Why should I believe you?”  

I’m a tactile person by nature. The only way I know how to diffuse a situation is through touch. I’ve learned over the years that a lot of frayed nerves can be unwound by simply by reassuring someone with a gentle squeeze on their hand or shoulder.

So my reaction to his unexpected anger was a reflex. I quickly reached in front of Sebastian to uncurl Steve’s left fist, even though my mind screamed not to. It was almost like the cosmos were telling me not to make contact. But at that moment, I knew that Steve Roger’s emotional state was more important than the laws of the universe.

As soon as I touched  the back of his hand, three things happened all at once.

First, I felt myself go weightless and  heavy at the same time. I vaguely remember slumping over onto Sebastian’s left side. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt bad for crushing the poor guy under not just mine, but also Captain America’s weight, since Steve collapsed onto him too.

Second, I literally saw my life flash before my eyes. It was a loud mixture of smells and emotions. There were some jarring sounds intermixed with distant visuals. The memories I can remember  re-experiencing were seeing Scott, my brother, grow up and the pain during the week after my dear friend, Matt Bardsley’s, death. I saw my career skyrocket after I signed with Marvel and I felt the sudden onslaught of worry that came from having a constant stream of fervent fans. I relived inconsequential moments of laughter and  embarrassment. The culmination of my life was bursting with both social anxiety and a sense of serenity.

Third, I saw _Steve’s_ life flash before my eyes. I could smell the sewage and smoke of New York in the Great Depression. I felt my lungs struggle to breathe. I heard a boy’s voice call out, “Hey, lay off the punk!” I felt the searing pain of the super-serum as my body was being remade one cell at a time. I saw Peggy’s perfect smile. I watched Bucky die and I felt ice immobilize my body while my mind remained coherent. I saw Times Square covered in unfamiliar lights and then covered in alien wreckage.

My consciousness had inexplicably become interlaced with Steve’s. It was like we were one person.

 _Steve?...._ I asked because I felt him there, his energy humming in my mind.

  _Chris, it’s nice to meet you…er…_ be _you…_ Steve answered back.

_This must be what a mind-meld feels like…_

I could sense Steve rifling through my memories to find a point of reference.

 _That sounds like an accurate description…I guess I can cross_ Star Trek _off my list now…_

_Yeah, go to town… Get caught up on the 21 st century… And my universe, I guess…_

_I…I’m a fictional character in your world…_

_Yeah, one on the most popular comic book characters of all time…_

_And you’re filming your third movie as me…_

_That’s why I think Sebastian and I are here...We’re gonna try to change the plot of our movie and the future of your universe…._

_But in your movie…Bucky is alive…_

_I’m sorry…_

_Why are you apologizing?... It’s not your fault that he’s gone—_

My mind was suddenly ripped apart from Steve’s. My ears rang and I was startled to see Bucky staring down at me with a concerned expression as he spoke in disjointed words.

It took me a full minute to realize that it was Sebastian, not Bucky.

I inhaled sharply through my nose as I took in my surroundings.

I could hear the roar of a sleek red and gold helicopter that was taxi-ing in the center of the National Mall park.

Sebastian, Steve and I were currently sitting in a haphazard huddle under a tree. Sebastian was squished between both of us and was complaining about our combined mass with an undertone of worry in his voice. Steve was blinking up at the filtered light shining through the branches like his entire existence had been uprooted. Which, it totally had.

As I sat up to relieve Sebastian of some of the weight, I looked him dead in the eye.

“Let’s add telepathy to our growing list of clusterfucks.”

**The Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 1130**

_Cpt. Rogers, Steven Grant_

Our extraction aircraft, courtesy of Stark Industries, had arrived as scheduled at 1123 hours. The civilians Evans and Stan boarded quickly. I followed at their six, yet realized that I would only make for a more federally expensive bodyguard as I did not have my shield on my person at the time.

As I climbed aboard, I heard Evans and Stan exclaim their surprise at the lack of pilot. I deduced that Stark was clearly test flying his new line of remote aircraft. I sat down between the two, with Evans on my right. He immediately grabbed my hand after I strapped in. In any other circumstance, I would have been uncomfortable with such forward attention, but I knew he was simply looking for reassurance. We were then connected through what I can only describe as a cerebral bond. Our conversation went as follows:

            EVANS: Hey, I hope you know that I never expected any of this to happen. In fact, I still sort of think that I must’ve unknowingly smoked some crazy shit this morning or I am having one of those lucid dreams were your body is kind of paralyzed and the entire world is vivid and more real than real life, yet the laws of physics don’t always apply. You know what I mean? I’m having one of those days. Except, I never had a day like this before so I have nothing to compare it to, but I’m sure you’ve, you know, experienced something like this. Oh shit, that was rude of me. I didn’t mean to bring up all the shit you’ve been through. I just mean that you come from a comic book universe were everything is in Technicolor, so you’re probably more prone to stuff like this that doesn’t _ever_ happen in real life. Okay, I should probably stop…whatever it is that I’m doing. Anyway, yeah…How’s your day so far?

I quirked an eyebrow and looked him at him straight on: You have a… _distinctive_ stream of consciousness. Very straight-forward and very easy to follow. It’s also nice that there’s not a lot of deep reflection going on behind those eyebrows…

            EVANS: Hey, asshole, they’re your eyebrows too! And not only that, but they are nice masculine eyebrows. Not too thick to be considered a bushman and not too thin to be mistaken for a Frenchman. I mean, I have nothing against the French! They’re a lovely people and love when I get to visit on our world tour of press junkets. Except, I’m not too fond of said press junkets. The number of people is always overwhelming. After, like, twenty minutes I might as well have a sign around my neck that says, “Human Sauna.”  Anyway, where was I going with this? Right. _You_ didn’t answer my question. Don’t think you can side-track me with bringing up my eyebrows! I’m not doing this!

I smirked, closed my eyes and tipped my head back to rest against the leather seat. I found it was easier to concentrate on our connection from a meditative position: Hmm…you’re more observant than I initially thought….To answer your rather innocuous question, my day has been… _interesting_ , to say the least. Up until two hours ago, I thought fighting an alien invasion would be my biggest problem after waking up seventy years in the future…

            EVANS: Hey, don’t bullshit me. I literally experienced your entire life less than ten minutes ago. I know that the alien invasion was and is the least of your worries. You and I both know that your _displacement_ , for lack of a better term, is the real root of your depression.

I was perturbed at the sharp turn our conversation had taken and hastened to reply: I’m not… _depressed_ —

            EVANS: Bull- _sheet_! I know you haven’t had the chance for someone to spell out what’s happened to you in the last two years. And I feel as a not-so-casual, not-so-third party observer that I am more than qualified to psychoanalyze you. You are depressed, my friend. Which is completely understandable and actually completely admirable considering that there are currently a lot of returning vets that are in the same place you are.

Again, I needed him to know: I don’t have shell shock. I can live with the men I have killed. I can live with the men I have lost…

            EVANS: No, you _can’t_. No one could and no one should. I know you suffer from insomnia and when you _do_ actually get some sleep, you can’t find any reason to get up off the bed you made for yourself on the floor. I know you can’t look at yourself in the mirror some days. I know that you’re deepest regret is that you couldn’t reach Bucky. I know that your dreams are soaked in blood and covered in dirt. I know that you wish you could drink yourself into a hazy stupor so you wouldn’t have to feel everything. I know you feel too much. I know that you get up every day and wish that you had died in the crash…

I remained silent, so he would understand my disapproval at the course that our discussion was taking. He mentally sighed.

            EVANS: Look, I understand that one telepathic conversation with your inter-dimensional twin is not going to solve or cure your emotional turmoil. I get it, I really do. But I just want you to know that I know you better than you know yourself. You can trust me. As crazy as it is, I’m here to help you.

I could not find the right words. Fortunately, I did not need to mentally vocalize anything, because he understood my swell of emotion.

            EVANS: I think it’s probably best that I leave you to your thoughts. Also, I’m sorry I just kind of barged into your mind and telepathically assaulted you with all your emotional short comings. The only way I can rationalize it was that I was shocked by the lack of therapeutic support you’ve gotten since you woke up. I know I do a lot of things before I think and I almost always regret the things I say to the people I care about. I’m not the best when it comes to really deep personal stuff. I usually like to stay on a strictly superficial level with people. So what I just did here, it was a fluke and hopefully it won’t happen to you again. I promise I won’t bombard you with the deep stuff. We’ll just be simple mind-reading buddies.

I responded: I don’t think that there is anything remotely simple about our situation. But I hear what you’re saying. I’ll let you get to your nap (which I know is the real reason why you’re trying to end this conversation). You sleep and I’ll stew on these new developments. Maybe I can suss out why the universe sent you here. After all, I _do_ have a genetically-enhanced brain, I’m sure I’ll figure it out in no time.

            EVANS: Are you trash-talking me again? First it was my intellectual capabilities and then it was the eyebrows and now it’s my brain again. God, I never thought you would be this cocky!

I appreciated that he understood my strange sense of humor, so I informed him mockingly: I am doing no such thing! Believe me, you’ll know when I’m “trash-talking” you.   

He physically pinched my hand in response before patting it and gently lifting his cerebral bond. This left me feeling more alone than ever  before. It was a welcome feeling as I had just began to appreciate the solitude of my own subconscious. Evans and I simply operated on different frequencies even though we were fully mentally compatible. My consciousness maintained a higher, more complex operation—rather than Evans, who had an undemanding, associative-based cognizance. This conscious distinction meant that I was more apt to filtering and controlling the flow of my thoughts, while Evans’ mind jumped from topic to topic, like mine did subconsciously. The only conclusion I can draw from these results is that the genetic enhancements from Erskine’s formula stimulated a stronger sentience beyond that of improved memory retention and heightened emotional response. Had Erskine been alive to observe this behavior, I think he would have been shocked at his scientific success. 

During the interim travel time between D.C. and New York, Stan and I shared a few words. Our conversation was as hushed as it could be on the helicopter in order to allow Evans some much needed rest. Our discussion went as follows:

            STAN:  What’s wrong with Chris?

I replied: He’s just tired. You look like you could use some sleep too.

            STAN: Don’t I know it. Unfortunately for me, I can’t seem to get any shut eye lately. Even tea doesn’t work for me anymore.

An uncomfortable silence fell while I weighed every option and offered: Bucky was the same way. Whenever we had rations of chamomile, he would save it for before he would go to bed.    

Stan grimaced in response and sank deeper into his seat.

            STAN: Listen, I don’t want you to get your hopes up or anything, so you should know that I’m not him. You probably want me to be, but I’m just _not_. Look, this metal hand isn’t even real.

He pulled his left hand out his pocket and showed me what I had seen in Evan’s mind when we made our first mental contact.

            STAN: This is just a heavy and uncomfortable piece of fake hardware. It doesn’t even cover my elbow and these finger sleeves are always slipping off. And this crazy long hair? Extensions. And it’s a bitch too because clumps keep getting caught in my mouth whenever I move around. These hobo clothes are just distressed costume pieces….What I’m trying to say is, is that I’m just a façade of your friend… And I’m sorry that it had to be me.

I was in no position at that time to reassure Stan that I was not trying to project Sgt. Barnes’ personality on him. The best course of action was no action at all. I looked into his familiar eyes and nodded my understanding. He sighed deeply in return and sat back to take a long-overdue nap. I wished I had the ability to join them both.

**The Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 1230**

_Stan, Sebastian_

I jolted into awareness when I felt the helicopter touch down on the landing pad atop Stark Tower. I groaned as I pulled out some synthetic hair that got caught in the corner of my mouth. I stared as far as my peripherals could go at the blurred brown strands of my hair and thought that the spit-covered clump was a perfect representation of my present situation.

Secretly, I had hoped I would wake up from…whatever it was that I was experiencing. I had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t a hallucination and I certainly wasn’t tripping on Acid. (Not that I would ever take such a drug…) Anyway, it seemed that my life was currently a fake truth (the synthetic hair, in the case of this analogy) surrounded by a tangible reality (my drool).

(Listen, I never said I was next great American author, Agent Hill. I simply feel that my field report could use a little more figurative language.)

(You know you’ll miss me when I’m gone.)

However, the shock of waking up for a second time in a fictional world was nothing compared to the sudden shock of hearing Mr. Paul Bettany himself over the helicopter’s intercom system, “Captain Rogers, welcome back to the Avengers Tower. On behalf of Mr. Stark, I also personally welcome Captain Rogers’ guests to our world.”

Chris was startled awake and exclaimed with a rather comical expression, “Whoa, what the hell! How do you know we’re not from here?”    

“Your biometric readings are unidentifiable. Additionally, your heat signatures are drastically warmer than average males aged 30 and 32, respectively. That said, these dissimilar readings are comparable to that of other realm travelers such as Prince Thor and Loki. The most logical deduction from my analysis is that you and your friend originated from another world or universe. This notion could be concurrent with the concepts of M-Theory. However, further evidence must be obtained in order to draw such conclusions.”

Let me just say right now and for the record that JARVIS was everything I hoped he would be. I mean, String Theory? That’s my jam.

Excitedly, I asked, “So what you’re saying is that we are in fact really here? We’re actually the first interdimensional voyagers?”

“Yes, even in such embellished terms, that would be correct, sir.”

Steve cleared his throat and motioned to the elaborate entrance outside on the roof, “I feel, given the state of security that these two are under, it would be best if we moved this conversation to a more secure location. After all, that is our entire reason for coming here.”

“Certainly, Captain Rogers. I have already erased and shielded your images from our Industry’s archive and any other surrounding surveillance systems  that were within range during your flight.”

Whoa, I thought to myself, with that kind of technology, why wasn’t Tony Stark a self-proclaimed “Supreme Overlord of the World” by now?  I figured that was a question best kept to myself and I restrained from blurting it out as we disembarked from the helipad and went down to Stark’s lab. The entire building looked like it came right out of someone’s concept art for _The Avengers_. The only difference was that it was real and it actually worked. It was absolutely mind-boggling to me to be standing in the middle of a functioning mad-scientist’s lab.     

“Let’s make one thing clear,” Robert Downey Jr.’s voice sounded from behind  the largest hunk of metal I had ever seen in my life, “I’m only putting Veronica on hold because JARVIS informed me that we have company from another dimension. Speaking of which, why didn’t you tell me on the phone, Cap? Are we really such frenemies that you can’t tell a guy when we have galaxy-hoppers in our midst? I’m kind of offended.”

Tony Stark appeared in a flurry of energy and grease stains. He moved so much like Robert that I had a hard time wrapping my head around who metaphysically inspired whom.

He paused as he wiped off his hands on an oil cloth, “You didn’t tell me you that they were cosplayers.” He motioned to me with the oil cloth, “You. Are you supposed to be some sort of 90s-grunge-Sergeant Barnes or something? Because I think the whole world would be better off without the visual of a punk band version of The Commandos.” I raised my eyebrows and gave him my toothless sarcastic grin that I reserve specially for people who give me equally sarcastic comments. I got the feeling that my face was probably going to be permanently affixed in that expression in Tony Stark’s presence. 

I glanced over to both Chris and Steve when I heard them simultaneously exhale long-suffering sighs. I tried unsuccessfully to stifle my chuckle at the two of them.

Tony’s gaze cut immediately over to Chris. He inspected, “Looks like you also found yourself a clone, Cap. Now the two of you can be the new ‘DoubleMint Twins!’ Personally speaking, I can’t wait to see your guys’ ad campaign.”

Steve moved his hands to his hips, “Not that I don’t appreciate your unique commentary on the world, Stark, but we _do_ have some pressing issues to discuss.”

“Right. Of course. You have a big parallel universe problem, as aptly demonstrated by our fanboys right over here. Now, if I know anything—which is a lot—I would think that the best course of action would be to figure out how to send them back the way they came.”

“Gee, Stark, why didn’t I think of that?” Steve looked innocently sarcastic.

“Enough with your sass, Rogers, _I’m_ leading this pow-wow. So, Thing 1 and Thing 2, how did you come to find yourselves in our wonderful dimension?”

Chris uncomfortably cleared his throat and took the words right out of my mouth, “We were on set filming a movie about your lives and then we meditated and ended up in the Smithsonian exhibit.”

Tony circled his workbench, using his hands as controllers to call up a holographic display of D.C. “Gotta say, I was hoping for something a little more…I don’t know, _Star Trek_? But  you mean to tell me this all comes down to metaphysics?” He started scrolling in reverse, looking for something on the map. “Hmmm, I haven’t seen this kind of spike in temperature since AIM….” Tony hummed to himself.

“Sir,” JARVIS cut in, “I do believe the fluctuation in heat at the point of origin is consistent with the energy signatures of our guests. They and the point of origin are functioning at a more elevated atomic level than what is naturally occurring in this world.”

“So, in simple terms,” Chris clarified, “we’re actual aliens and the Smithsonian exhibit is a doorway to another dimension?”  He let out a soft whistle, “You know, I didn’t think I’d ever have to say that in real life. But now that we’ve got the logistics cleared up, I don’t think we can go home until we’ve finished something….”

Steve nodded in understanding, like he already knew what Chris was going to say. It reminded me of the whole telepathy thing and then my entire perspective on the situation just got more convoluted. I then wondered if Captain America could read my mind too. So, I did what any sane person would do: I started picturing him naked while singing the _Friends_ theme song just to see if I could get a rise out of him. Unfortunately, I also had to rethink my entire sexual identity because I was inadvertently picturing _Chris_ naked as well.  Not that I was complaining…

(I realize, Agent Hill, that that was probably bordering on TMI. But! You _did_ say you wanted every detail leading up to this moment in time, so that’s what you’re getting.)

Anyway, Steve didn’t even flinch, which led me to believe he was either capable of impeccable self-control or he couldn’t actually read my mind. Both scenarios were disappointing.

While I was zoning out and trying to get Cap to crack up, Chris enthusiastically introduced ourselves and described the Cliff Notes-version of our plan to rewrite the timeline of this world. Tony kept a fairly stoic expression throughout the whole ordeal, considering he was getting a spoiler-alert-edition of Marvel’s screenplay a year before the movie was going to come out.

Chris finished and Tony stared at the workbench in front of him for an uncomfortably long time. He finally asked, “You believe all this?” The question was directed at Steve, who nodded solemnly in reply. Tony questioned further with a biting tone, “So you’re saying you can actually read this yahoo’s mind? And you actually believe that Sergeant Barnes is not only alive but also a legendary Russian assassin? And that SHIELD is actually currently being run by HYDRA goons?” An awkward silence, worthy of a Golden Globe in comedy, fell over the four of us. I have expected JARVIS to play a looped track of crickets over the loudspeaker. I clumsily coughed into my hand.

Tony’s gaze cut to me and he gave me cursory once-over. I answered back with an exaggerated calculating expression just to see what he would do.

After a second, he smirked and shrugged, “I’m sold. JARVIS, indefinitely postpone all previous arrangements for the rest of the week. Today, I’m gonna save the universe… Again.”

“Excellent, Sir. I’ll cancel your Netflix marathon of _My Little Pony_ scheduled for this evening.”

Chris about died of laughter at that and I wasn’t too far behind. Looking back on it, I’m glad I got a few moments of happiness before everything went to shit.


	3. 4/21/13, 1300-1330

**The Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 1300**

_Evans, Christopher Robert_

In theory, our plan to save the world was supposed to be simple. In practice, it obviously had a few contingencies that went unaccounted for. Okay, it had a more than a few contingencies…

Sebastian, however, has since been quick to remind me that the events of the next 12 hours in this log all occurred because of my ingenious scheme to rescue Bucky Barnes. In my book, these are just semantics since Steve was more than happy to contribute to our overall master plan.  And contribute, he did.

We bounced ideas off each other like we were telepathic lightning rods:

_We’ll need to get up on the roof…_

_Yes, but it is equally important that I get my shield beforehand. We’ll need to factor in some prep time for it…_

_True. We also need to meet up with Sam Wilson…_

_The man I met yesterday morning on my run?_

_Yep. He is going to be a necessary ally in the future. Not right now, but eventually…Although, at the rate that we’ve screwed things up, we might not even need him! But you know, it’s probably better to be on the safe side and contact him…_

_Where is that, do you know?_

_According to the script, he’ll be leading a group session at a VA clinic…_

_Hmm, given where I met him—and assuming that he lives in the same vicinity—I think I can narrow down which one…Is that all that we need to take into consideration?_

_Everything I can think of…We can only hope now that it’ll actually work…_

_Considering what we are currently doing, I think it will…_

_Agreed…_

Since we were both literally on the same wavelength, I started to slowly ease way from his consciousness so I wouldn’t have such a frightening jolt of confusion like the first time we were ripped apart. But before we separated, Steve relived a shared moment he had long ago with Bucky. It was a memory seeped in sepia-toned comfort. He and Bucky held each other unselfconsciously. I could taste the sickly depression and hear the unspoken gratitude in their warmth. The depth of their mutual dependency took my breath away. I was starting to understand the extent of their relationship and how it was truly able to transcend all conventions and boundaries. It went beyond friendship and love. It was a power in of itself and I could see how it could shatter seventy-plus years of tortuous distance. It made me long for a connection like that with someone.

The entire incident took less than ten seconds, yet ended with the both of us unthinkingly moving and hugging Sebastian.

I honestly don’t know what prompted it because Steve and I were in our own little world at the time. But I’ve given a lot of thought since then on this matter and I have come to the conclusion that Sebastian’s personal repertoire of expressions caused Steve’s memory to spring to life—if that makes any sense? It was like the memory didn’t exist until Sebastian made it real. So, I’ve been led to assume that Sebastian must’ve turned around to watch us during our mental “master planning” and his face must’ve triggered the creation of Steve’s memory. Yet, since the two of us were still telepathically connected, the swell of emotion turned into an action that Steve and I responded to in kind.

However, Sebastian didn’t know any of this at the time so he understandably stiffened at our combined sudden onslaught of affection. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips tightened into an awkward half-smile. I had to blink several times to get a superimposed image of him wearing a threadbare button-down shirt and pants with suspenders out of my head. It was the strangest sensation. It was like I was staring _through_ him and into his other infinite incarnations. In one reality, he wore a stylized blue pea coat. In another, he wore his Sunday Best. He was always Bucky and Bucky was always him. One couldn’t exist without the other.

JARVIS and I have since had some thought-provoking conversations on this bizarre manifestation of reality and he has since deduced that this incident must’ve been my mind’s way of reconciling the paradoxical nature of “Fictional Realism.” He explained it like this: the notion of parallel universes also exists for works of fiction. The subconscious qualities of imagination are drawn from the reality of fantasy. But the world or realm of fiction cannot be created without it being imagined first. Yet, the fictional world is only conceived because it already exists in another  dimension.

Long story short, apparently Fictional Realism is a thing. Good luck explaining _that_ to your future Level 7s, Agent Hill.

“How do you guys feel about Thai?—Whoa, I was not ready for that. Please warn me next time you guys start a threesome!” Tony had obviously finished whatever it was that he was doing and had finally looked up to see our spontaneous group hug.

I stepped away in a daze. Steve followed my movements and I could tell we wore similar expressions of alternate-reality-based-confusion. Steve and I wouldn’t understand the true significance of this moment at the time, but more on that later.

Sebastian cleared his throat and apprehensively ran his right hand through his hair. This was a nervous tick of his, so I knew that I had put him on the spot with the whole thing. His anxiety was contagious because I responded with my own tick. And I shouldn’t have been surprised when I saw Steve react simultaneously out of the corner of my eye. We both ended up scratching at our eyebrows in an unintentionally choreographed movement.

Tony scoffed, “I take it that you’ll have what he’s having, Tweedle Dum?”

I dropped my hand as soon as I realized what was happening and hoped to alleviate the odd tension in the room by playing along, “Yeah, just order two of everything for us.” 

“JARVIS, place an order for ‘Cookie Monster’ downstairs.” Tony said casually, as if this was an everyday occurrence. He continued on and pulled out an unmarked silver package from his seemingly limitless wall of compartments. “In the meantime, I could definitely use some pick-me-up electrolytes. Blueberries, anyone?” Tony cracked the seal and looked around at the three of us with genuine interest.

Sebastian’s eyes lit up, “I’ll have some. Honestly, I’m too hungry to pretend otherwise.” Tony shoved the bag in his face as a reply. I had to smile at the recognizable action because it was also Robert Downey Jr.’s way of nonverbally expressing his high regard.

This familiar behavior suddenly put me at ease in Stark’s presence, so I felt comfortable enough to slump into a sleek metal chair at his workbench and ask the question that I knew was on everyone’s mind:

“So you’re a _My Little Pony_ AND _Sesame Street_ fan?” 

He paused from his tinkering and blinked. I felt slightly victorious in briefly tripping up someone as smart and witty as Tony Stark. After a quick lapse, he hastily rebounded  with, “First of all, JARVIS is going through this phase right now where he likes to shower our guests with snark and make everyone think the worst of me—”

“—It is not a phase, Sir. I have the entirety of pop culture at my disposal to ensure that your ego continues to remain at an above average level—”

“And secondly,” Tony continued on unabashed, “Who doesn’t like _Sesame Street_? I simply feel that the world needs more take-out orders named after pre-adolescent television show characters.”

“Yeah, but what about _My Little Pony_?” Sebastian tipped the bag of blueberries into his mouth to finish them off.

“I prefer not to comment. In any case, we have been spending way too much time discussing my TV habits. Don’t we have a multiverse to save before it collapses or something?” 

“Right.” Steve straightened the hem of his shirt and squared his shoulders. “According to Chris’ knowledge of the script, _Frostbite_ , The Winter Soldier is currently targeting Director Fury in downtown D.C. Unfortunately, we can do little to stop this event because we run the risk of civilian casualties in such an urban area.”

“Also,” I interjected, “we don’t want half of Washington seeing two different Caps and two different Buckys. The media will have a field day and we can’t afford to let the world know that Sebastian and I exist.”

“Correct.” Steve’s eyes lit up at my enthusiasm. Rather than feel threatened by the way I took control, he seemed to find solace in our partnership. He nodded, “However, Fury _will_ escape and rendezvous at my apartment, where The Winter Soldier will follow to finish his mission. Our task will be to covertly remove Fury from danger as soon as he arrives, while simultaneously sedating and capturing The Winter Soldier before he can shoot.”

“How is that going to work, exactly?” Sebastian fiddled with the blueberry package like it was origami.

I exchanged a look with Steve. We agreed beforehand that it would be better I were the one to break the news to him. “Now, just hear me out. This is going to sound more than a little weird, but we’re going to need you to, uh, _touch_ Bucky. Like what I did with Steve. We think that this will be the safest and easiest way of not only getting him to cooperate but also restoring his memories.”

His eyebrows crinkled, “But how do we know that that’ll even work?” Steve and I shifted at the same time. I didn’t need to read his mind at that moment to know that we both didn’t like where this was heading. “I’m mean, no offense to Steve, but at this point, Barnes is pretty far gone. Mentally, I mean. He’s been tortured, frozen and thawed out over five times every decade for the last fifty years and you think that telepathy will cure him?”

I wanted to reassure him that that wasn’t the case or point out that that was what sort of happened in the comic books Marvel had assigned for us to read, but Sebastian took my almost-interjection the wrong way and continued on.

“You know, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from playing angst-ridden characters, it’s that there is no magical solution or cure-all for anything in life. Let’s just say that it does work—that he gets his memories back and is unwillingly to assassinate Nick Fury—what’s to say that he’d want to have anything to do with us after all of the resurfacing pain that we unnecessarily put him through. He can’t just be a plot point on our quest to save the day. He deserves our emotional consideration and understanding. At least allow him that much.”

It was perhaps the most I’d ever heard Sebastian say that wasn’t from a script. I’d only ever seen him as a sweet, happy-go-lucky guy with a calm and cool demeanor. But it was like a light switch flicked on and suddenly he was truly passionate about something that caused him to deliver the most heart-felt, Oscar-winning monologue I’d ever seen in real life.

I tried to furtively blink away my watery eyes. I have this tendency to tear up at almost everything—even Folgers commercials.

Sebastian noticed my reaction as he gazed resolutely at the rest of us. After a moment, he lowered his head timidly and licked the side of his lips. I knew enough about him to know that he was nervous about what he was going to say next. He unfolded himself from his chair and looked Steve dead in the eye.

“I’ll do it. But just know that I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for him. Someone needs to protect him.”

Steve nodded and crossed his arms. “On that, we couldn’t agree more.”

**On the Topic of Sgt. Barnes, James Buchanan**

_Capt. Rogers, Steven Grant_

Deputy Director Hill has requested that I explain my motivations and relationship regarding Sergeant Barnes. However, I feel that this is of little consequence given the nature of this report. At the start of this debriefing, I was informed that I only had to give my account of the events surrounding this 0-8-4. I was not and am not required to divulge the sordid details of my private life. Suffice it to say, the unsensational truth is that Sergeant Barnes and I are friends brought together through will, war, and time. I care for him enough to storm Fort Knox, if I had to. Surely your records from the war show that much, Deputy Director. Furthermore, my emotional stability should not be called into question on the subject of Sergeant Barnes. I will be the first to admit that I have a blind spot when it comes to his well-being, but that does not mean that I am incapable of coherent thought where he is concerned.

If we are to go any farther, I would appreciate it if the question of my intentions towards Sergeant Barnes did not come up again. My actions pertaining to Sergeant Barnes have never been anything but honorable. I will always choose to do right by him, whatever that may be. With that in mind, I do not believe that anything more needs to be said on the matter.

**The Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 1330**

_Stan, Sebastian_   

Oh God, I thought to myself, I’m going to have to hold hands with a brainwashed assassin. It would’ve sounded like a punchline except that, for me,  it was a death sentence.

I was absolutely petrified.

I ate the food Tony had ordered on auto-pilot as he and Chris exchanged hurried quips about the minutia of their plan to save the world.

Steve ate silently at the opposite end of the lab. The farthest he could get from me without leaving the room.

Regret simmered in my chest and sank uneasily in my stomach along with the greasy take-out.

As an automatic reaction, I raked my hands anxiously through my hair, then grimaced at the feeling of the synthetic clips that were fastened in that morning by the make-up department. I was already self-conscious enough about the state of my hair, but that was just the cherry on top of the mountain of  shit that I was dealing with.

So, I had two options. I could spend the last few hours of my life before the Winter Soldier killed me either wallowing in self-made pity or trying to make things right with Steve. 

I knew what I had to do. It was just hard to muster the strength to do it.

The thing is, I don’t do confrontation. I’m more of the passive-aggressive, long-winded texter-type. I hate dealing with other people’s anger. It’s hard enough for me to try to contain my own in the heat of an argument.

But from what I knew of Steve Rogers, _his_ sudden passive-aggressiveness was a little harder to explain.

With that thought in mind, I crossed the room with an air of confidence I didn’t have at the time. Before I could say anything though, Steve’s voice stopped me a few feet from his turned back, “I know what you’re going to say, but I just want to be alone.”

“That may be the case,” I uncomfortably answered, “but I just want you to know that I’m sorry for what I said about you not taking Barnes’ emotional state into consideration. I also want to apologize for everything that I’ve said since I’ve met you. Again, it’s like everything I say to you is the wrong thing.”

Steve remained silent for a second then exhaled shortly through his nose. He glanced back at me with mirth in his eyes. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but you _are_ just like him.” I  blinked in response and Steve motioned to the empty stool next to him with his head.   

The metal legs scrapped loudly against the floor and I threw an apologetic look towards Chris and Tony at the holo-table. I shouldn’t’ve bothered. They were too enraptured by their own eagerness to pay us any mind. Steve noticed where my attention was placed and observed the two of them at the other end of the lab.

I studied Steve’s face in return, trying to spot the differences between his and Chris’ likeness. I couldn’t find any. I tried to process what that meant. Steve had told me that I was like Bucky Barnes, yet I knew I was anything but. I was just an actor. I had never lived through the Depression or been tortured or been in a war. The central points of his friend’s psychological make-up were not present in my own. But both Chris and Steve were exact carbon copies of each other. Did that mean that Bucky Barnes would be as well whenever I met him? Some part of my brain had already figured this out, it was just hard accepting the fact that I could be another person. Still, as I evaluated both Steve’s and Chris’ varied emotional reactions to the situation that we had found ourselves in, I had hope that I would have some free will when I would inevitably meet my assassin counterpart.

Steve knew I was watching him, but didn’t comment on it. Instead he said, “I should probably explain.”

I tried to smile, but I could already tell that this was going to be an emotional roller coaster of a conversation. I was bracing myself for whatever was revealed. At the same time, I wanted so desperately to get along with Steve. He was not only a living superhero, but also the person responsible for my job security with Marvel. Without Captain America, Sebastian Stan would still be stuck playing crying gay boys.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with that, Agent Hill. I would just simply like to move on from my current filmography. If my movies _do_ exist over here in some form, I would like to personally apologize to every universe for those travesties to the film industry. And if there are any fans of them out there in the great beyond, good for you. I’m not one of them.)

Anyhow, Steve glanced at me from the corner of his eye to see that I was trying to be as reassuring as possible. His face broke out into the same heart-wrenching, but unreadable expression that I noticed from the first time he saw me. My heart skipped a beat and my throat closed up at the knowledge that I was going to finally understand the depth of that expression.

“Bucky and I—” He started, but couldn’t get the words out. He tried again with a flash of quintessential Steve-Rogers-determination in his eye, “He was the greatest man I ever knew. He was my hero, plain and simple. He was the best parts of a man that I could never be. He gave everything he had, even for a war he didn’t want to fight. He did it because it was the right thing to do. He saved me every day of my life, and the moment that I was finally able to repay him for all that he had done, I failed. The moment when he needed me most, I wasn’t there to save him. I didn’t even think for one moment that he could’ve survived that fall. All I wanted was to follow his lead, like I had been doing every second since I met him. I thought he went where I couldn’t follow when I woke up here, in this time.” Steve paused to reign in his mounting anger. I could feel it building off of him in waves. Then spoke to his hands, as if they were the source of his anguish. “And now I know that I _did_ follow his lead, because he’s here too. He’s right in front of me, yet he’s gone. He’s alive and he’s real, but he’s not here. It seems that all I can ever do is follow. I followed him on the streets, on to the front, and now into the future. But I can never quite reach his light. I’ve been chasing him ever since I can remember. All I want is to finally catch him. And never let him go without me there to break his fall.”

I had to look away from him. It was like his grief was new all over again and, for me, fresh grief is so intensely personal that it deserves every available privacy.

I let the moment wash over us both. It was one of those moments that I made sure that I solidified in my memory. I can still instantly recall the smell of steel and grease in the lab, the distant conversation between Chris and Tony, the heat radiating from Steve’s anger, and oily taste of guilt in my mouth.

I gently asked after what seemed like ages, “Did you tell Chris any of this? He can read your mind, right?”

Steve shook his head. “I hadn’t let what I’ve been feeling sink in until now. This is the first time that I’ve been able to truly process what has happened to Bucky. I was swept up in the adrenaline of meeting you two and getting you to safety. Besides, I don’t feel that this is for Chris to know.”

I looked over to Chris in response and saw the wide smile and enthusiasm in his eyes. I wanted to protect that. He was all that I had from my universe and he was probably my only chance of getting back home.

But, the idea of home was beginning to seem more and more like dream. I had only been in this world for a few hours at most, but I already felt the tether to my world slipping away.

At that realization, I felt another layer of guilt pile on the mountain that I was already under. I could feel my phone burning a figurative hole in my pocket. I would have left it in the trailer before we began shooting, but I was confirming dinner plans for me and my girlfriend, Jennifer Morrison. We were on the same coast for once and we were taking every opportunity we could to get some time together. We were taking it slow and she made me work for it. I loved that about her.

I wondered if she existed on this side. Even if she did, she wouldn’t know me. That thought should have cut me to the core, but it was like I was desensitized to any more heartache than what I was already feeling.

I felt all this melancholy for a world that I was no longer missing. I felt more guilt over that than anything else.

“You were right about what you said earlier,” Steve thankfully broke my train thought, “I hadn’t truly accepted the emotional and mental strain that Bucky has been going through.”

I wanted to jump in and assure him that I hadn’t meant to come undone about his and Chris’ plan, but Steve continued on with a growing intensity, “I’ve been mulling it over, and I agree with you—telepathy won’t cure what has happened to him. My only hope is that perhaps it will help him find peace. That’s all that I want for him now. I don’t care if that involves me or not. I just want him to get back all that he’s lost.”

There was a deeper emotion coloring his words. I was scared to find out what it was.

I turned back to look at Steve, who was obviously hurting and never let anyone know it. His shoulders were slumped forward and he seemed to curl in on himself, as if he was still in his smaller body. I was a bit honored to see him with his guard down. Only three other people had probably ever seen him this way: his mother, Peggy Carter, and Bucky Barnes.

I telegraphed my next movements because I didn’t know if they would be well-received. I gently stretched my hand out to rub out the knots at the top of his spine. He stiffened at my touch and never really relaxed to the pressure, but I kept on, because if anyone needed a massage, it was Steve Rogers.

I stood up as quietly as possible to give him the full treatment. He sighed and shuddered. It was only after a few minutes that I realized that he was crying.

This was something I had never expected to see from Steve. That said, I still knew deep down that it was inevitable turn of events, given the trajectory of our conversation.

I moved without thinking and crossed my arms to encircle him from behind on the stool.  He immediately took hold of my arms and pulled them tighter around him.

I felt a change in the air. The comfort was mutual and much needed for the both of us. I grinned into his hair and wrapped myself around Steve Rogers like a security blanket.

It was the last time that I smiled that day.


	4. 4/21/13, 1400-1730

**The Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 1400**

_Cpt. Rogers, Steven Grant_

Stan and I shared a moment of mutual understanding after we ate at Stark’s lab at around 1345. I appreciated the fact that we both came to an agreement on how we felt about Barnes’ safety. We both divulged pieces of ourselves, which made it easy for me to consider him a brother-in-arms. I would fight for him the same way I would fight for Sgt. Barnes or anyone else in my regiment.

However, I did not have the foresight to predict what happened next.

Evans called Stan and myself over from the holo-table to inform us that he and Stark were planning on printing out a new uniform for Stan. I will admit, I was puzzled by this turn of phrase, but Stark quickly filled me in on the process of 3D printing.

Evans explained his and Stark’s reasoning behind this course of action, “We hope that Bucky coming face to face with a carbon copy of himself will hopefully distract him long enough for us to get an upper hand. Or, in Seb’s case, an actual hand on him. Tony’s also really excited about trying out new fabrics and Kevlar with his 3D printer.”

I questioned, “Wouldn’t it be easier to just _make_ a uniform?”

“Yeah, but that’s not as cool and we’re rather short on time. Plus, Bucky Bear over here will have Stark-certified protection from anything his evil twin has to throw at him.” I frowned at Stark’s choice of words, but I could see the sense in having Stan fully equipped with practical gear. I, of all people, knew what it was like to storm an enemy in an useless costume.

“We’ll need a picture of what the Winter Soldier should look like.” Stark looked at Stan expectantly. He, in turn, glanced uneasily at me. I nodded to let him know that I, too, thought the plan was sound. Stan took out his phone and began scrolling. I watched his familiar expressions change from nervousness into sudden sorrow. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, unmoving. I stepped quietly closer and asked if he was alright.

Stan shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows, “No, I just…my girlfriend. I was thinking about her earlier and I just saw some pictures of her. I guess. . . .” He trailed off.

“Do you miss her? Are you trying to get back to her?” I knew the feeling well.

Stan bit his lip. I blinked out the image of Barnes in my head. “That’s the thing. I _should_ , but I _don’t_. I don’t really miss anything from…over there. I feel…free in a way over here. I mean, I might be killed in the next few hours by an assassin, but overall, I’m feeling like this place is like my home for a while. And if it is the place that I die, I suppose that it would be a pretty cool place to be. You know, inside of a living movie. I miss the fact that I used to miss things. Jen…her picture…she just reminded me of that fact.” Stan paused, looking at his phone, then back at me. He smiled without happiness. “I thought I might as well open up like you did earlier.”

“I’m glad.” We both did not know quite what to do with ourselves. I impulsively thought that I would return the favor for our moment from before. I awkwardly pulled him in for a hug. I told him softly, “I’ll get you home, whatever it takes.”

“I know you will.” Stan whispered. My heart doubled at the feeling of having Barnes’ trust again, in whatever form that it was. Stan trusted me with his own life, and I was not about to let him fall. I pulled away, but gripped Stan’s shoulder to convey that I was with him to the end, whenever that was.

Stark cleared his throat loudly. “Sorry, I know I’m breaking up male-bonding hour, but we’re on tight schedule. Mr. Stan, your phone, please?”

“Hey, you actually remembered my name.” Stan said self-deprecatingly.

Stark snorted, “It’s because you’re a pretty groovy fella. Right, Jay?”

“Indeed, Sir. Mr. Stan is a particularly groovy man.” JARVIS intoned. Stan nervously ran his hand through his hair at the attention and shakily handed over his phone to Stark. He moved closer and began describing the intricacies of his uniform in a forced voice. I was worried about him, but I knew he could handle himself. Barnes would have never let me “mother-hen” him, so I assumed that Stan would be no different. While he and Stark were talking, Evans sidled to me with an excited grin.

“So, we’re gonna havta meet up with Sam Wilson. Like we discussed earlier? I let Tony know a bit about our timeline and he agrees that we need to do as much as possible to stick to it. I realize that us taking a detour to New York was not necessarily on the right track, but we agreed that it was for the best. As Tony said, ‘You would be shit out of luck without me.’ He’s right, of course. But don’t tell him I said that.” Evans winked at me and grabbed my hand.

EVANS: Are you alright? Things seemed intense with you and Seb.

I replied: We’re fine…better than actually. We had some minor disagreements, but I think we’re better now.

            EVANS: Yeah, Seb’s a pretty easy-going guy. I can’t imagine him not getting along with anyone.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I answered diplomatically: Well, we didn’t at first. But we’re on the mend now. I hope he feels the same. . . . How ‘bout you? You and Stark talk science?

            EVANS: Yes! And it was awesome!

I saw flashes of his conversation with Stark. Evans’ memory was not as precise as my own, so it was harder to piece together the images and sounds that accompanied the experience. That said, I was more than impressed by our collectively rapid learning curve. We were both able to process our thoughts together in a nearly effortless manner. The only explanation that I have for this is that we were so metaphysically alike that we were almost one in the same within the cosmic order of events.

Out of respect, I shielded my conversation with Stan from Evans. I would only share that information if he gave me his consent first. Evans noticed that I was concealing something because I began focusing on multiple other ideas at once. I could sense his curiosity.

I answered without him having to mentally verbalize a question: I feel that my conversation with Sebastian is private. If he feels open about sharing, then I will too.

            EVANS: That seems fair. It’s nice to know that whatever is said between us will be “under the dome,” as it were.

I smiled: I like that turn of phrase. I think that that is an accurate description of what’s going on here.

            EVANS: Agreed. . . .Now, let’s get down to business [an unfamiliar animated musical clip accompanied this thought in Evans’ mind. I assume it must have been a pop culture reference from his universe, but I am still not sure. I have since made a note to look up what it meant.] . . . .You and me are gonna have to hitch a ride back down to D.C. We need to meet up with Sam Wilson at the VA clinic, like in the script. Then we’ll make a little detour to your apartment to pick up your shield, so you can be ready to hide out on the rooftop of the adjacent apartment complex. We got a lot to do and not a lot of time to get it all done.

I was curious: What about Sebastian?

            EVANS: He’ll stay here and get suited up with Tony. Then they’ll fly down to D.C. and hopefully rendezvous on time with us on the roof. Except, I won’t be around because I’ll be posing as you in your apartment to collect Nick Fury. . . .Do you think we should let him in on what’s been happening? He doesn’t really have all the strings to pull right now since we need to fake his death. . . . So it’s up to you, I guess. . . .

Weighing the situation at the time, I decided: It would be best if you didn’t reveal your true identity. For now, we should keep this on a need-to-know basis. I trust Fury only as far as I can throw him. Certain recent developments have made me…wary…of his intentions.

            EVANS: He’s not bought out by HYDRA, if that’s what you mean? He’s the good guy. I mean, he’s Samuel L. Effing Jackson!

This statement meant little to me, but I saw flashes of Nick Fury’s likeness in a cloudy memory on a movie screen and in person. It was strange, to say the least, but I hastened to clarify for Evans: My trust in Fury has to do with his morality and his preservation of life, not his allegiance to another power. Nick Fury is looking out for Nick Fury. Unfortunately, sometimes civilian casualties are in between him and his goal. That’s not what I signed up for when I picked up the shield. I will never jeopardize innocent people—any fight will be between me and an enemy and no one else. There are times when I wish I could switch off my sensitivity to meaningless deaths, since it would certainly make my job a lot easier. But I’m reminded of what Dr. Erskine once told me—I was chosen for this because he thought I as a good man. I try to live up to that standard every day. I fall embarrassingly short, but the thought of attaining that status gets me through the overwhelming nature of this future.

            EVANS: That’s understandable, I guess. . . .But for the record, I think you’re a pretty good guy. One of the best that I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. Although, it would be pretty hard to beat my dad for that title!

I saw warm and vibrant memories of inconsequential moments in Evans’ life. There was an early memory of his father teaching him how to tie his shoes. I was experiencing the action as if I were Evans himself. Before I knew it, I was crouched over and clumsily attempting to knot my shoelaces one-handed, since my left hand was still holding Evans’. The motivation to tie my shoes came entirely from Evans’ mind. This action was a reflection of what occurred earlier when we both simultaneously moved to hug Stan. I did not think much of it at the time, but I finally began to piece two and two together. I realized immediately that we could not only read each other’s minds, but also manipulate each other’s actions.

This realization was the beginning of something far bigger that would later save both our lives.

**The Details of Monday, 21 Apr. 2013 at 1430**

_Evans, Christopher Robert_

I could only shake my head and wonder at how my life had changed since the sun had come up in my own universe. Here I was, on a Stark Industries chopper heading back to D.C. with Steve Rogers sitting next to me while we practiced mind control on each other. Life is stranger than fiction—especially when you’re in a fictional world.

But I was getting a hang of things fairly quickly. I was totally on board for whatever this world had to throw at me. I felt like I was sort of prepared for this since I was already so passionate about film and fiction in general. So I knew enough about the “Hero Journey Cycle” in  fiction writing to know that a story only ends after the characters learn something about themselves. My plan was streamlined to incorporate this factor. And that was really the core of my grand plan. It was a simple objective: get Sebastian to use his telepathy to fix Bucky. Once everything was set right, the powers-that-be would be happy and—ba-da-boom, ba-da-bing—Sebastian and me would be sent back to Raleigh Studios and Steve would be reunited with Bucky.

Spoiler Alert! That didn’t happen.

I know. It’s practically the plot twists to end all plot twists. M. Night Shyamalan has nothing on us. Note the sarcasm, Agent Hill. 

That being said, I want it on record that I never saw any of the next events coming—and by events, I mean what ended up happening on the rooftop.

But back to the mind control thing (which was awesome). During our flight, I was able to throw a punch on Cap’s command and, after a lot of practice, I was also able to do the same with him. It wasn’t much, but it was certainly something. I had also gotten the hang of coming out of our mental connection. It wasn’t as jarring as it had first been. In fact, by the end, I didn’t really feel any discomfort at all. I like to think that I must’ve built up a tolerance for it. Steve’s cognizance also really helped. He was collected and quick, which made it a joy to work with him in the most unpredictable situation of all time.

JARVIS let us know through the helicopter’s intercom that we were set to land in thirty minutes. I took that opportunity to get some more sleep. I rightfully predicted that I wasn’t going to get much more of it in the coming hours. I tried to encourage Steve to get some shut-eye, but he waved me off. His face was cloudy and concerned. I didn’t want to pry. Whatever he wanted to keep to himself, I had to respect that it was for a reason.

For the most part, I wasn’t privy to his true innermost thoughts. He was able to shield much of his mental processes from me. I hadn’t quite mastered that technique, so I was pretty much an open book at the time. I didn’t mind it though because I didn’t have anything to hide. And the more that Steve knew about me, the better. In my position, I could’ve easily been considered to be a HYRDA agent or an alien manifestation or worse—I mean, I sort of _am_ an alien, but that’s beside the point. I had to have Steve’s trust or everything would go south on me. And if I had Steve’s trust, I knew that he would also trust Sebastian and would do everything he could to keep him safe.

If I’m being honest, I was most definitely doing all of this for myself; so I could get back home. But a large part of my enthusiasm came down to protecting Sebastian. We were each other’s only hope of getting back home and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had to be safe. I knew that my plan _did_ put him in a little bit of danger, but I also knew that Steve and Tony would be all decked out and on the roof with him to guard and intervene if necessary.

The plan was solid and sound.

Except for the fact that it wasn’t.

What we really needed was a plan that was absolutely bananas. Unfortunately, we were just shy of insanity at the time.

We’ll get to that later. Now, back to the important stuff.

I was out like a light until Steve nudged me awake. He motioned out the window and I scooted over to get a better look. We were circling downtown D.C., which was alight with smoke from obvious explosions. I immediately realized that we had just missed the epic Nick Fury car chase. It had been something that was “blank book” in the script, so I didn’t really know the exact details of Fury’s first altercation with HYDRA and The Winter Soldier. It was something that we were going to shoot and script later on when the production went to Cleveland for location shots. But seeing the aftermath was just as impactful as seeing the actual chase itself.

We had already decided that we weren’t going to be able to stop it. It was just hard to turn away from the destruction that I knew was going to happen.

It was too much too soon. Let me put this in perspective: less than an hour before, we were at Tony’s high-tech lab, shooting the breeze over Thai. Transitions like this were terrible and I knew I could never permanently live in a superhero reality because I would constantly worry about the state of my world changing on the dime.

I grabbed Steve’s hand to let him know that I finally understood how real the stakes were in this dangerous game we were playing with fate. I let him know my doubts about us being able to change anything.

 _Things are already changing. . ._. Steve quickly assured me,  _I clearly wasn’t supposed to be here or meet with Tony or know you and Sebastian. . ._. _We’ll make things right. . ._. _No more innocent people will have to pay for my mistakes. . ._. _I’ve learned the hard way that everything happens for a reason. . . ._

 _Wow..._ _that was pretty uplifting coming from a guy who grew up in the Great Depression. . ._. _Shouldn’t you be preaching about pinching pennies and making do with what you have?. . . ._

 _Son, I don’t appreciate your sass. . ._. Steve chided jokingly. I was glad that he was in a better humor than before. I like to think that I helped with that.

_Oh, says the “Queen of Sass!”. . . ._

_Queen, you say? Hmmm. . ._. _I could wield a lot of power with that title. . ._.

 _You bet! Queens have far more power than Kings! All I have to do is just think about my mom._ She’s _the one that runs the household!. . . ._

 _My mom was the same way. . ._. I saw Steve’s mother, Sarah, running a tight ship in her nursing ward through endless bouts of TB and influenza. She was a single mom at a time when that was frowned upon. She had strawberry blonde hair that was always done up in a bun. She had beautiful hands that became more calloused as time went on. She was fierce and kept Steve strong until her death. There were so many details about her that I couldn’t keep track of them all. It was clear to me that Steve used a good portion of his perfect recall to hold on to all that he could remember of her. My heart broke softly at the thought. 

But Steve didn’t look back on her in sadness, he saw her as a vision of pride—someone to look up to. I loved that. It was one more thing that brought us closer together.

We were going to need that.

JARVIS landed us back on the lawn of the National Mall where we started. No one paid us any mind in the frenzy that the car chase caused, even though we were several blocks away.

I didn’t bother saying goodbye to JARVIS because I knew I would probably see him soon and I told him as such.

“Likewise, Mr. Evans. I trust you’ll keep Captain Rogers out of danger?”

I waggled my eyebrows at Steve. “You know it!” Steve rolled his eyes in return and stepped out of the chopper.

I wondered in the back of my mind if I also looked that petulant when I was unamused. Such is the life of a clone. . . .

Steve and I backtracked to the Smithsonian to pick up his bike. I was super excited because it was a sweet ride. That was one of the best perks of these Marvel franchises: the Harleys. We arrived at the parking garage and I spotted the excellent craftsmanship immediately: Harley-Davidson Street 750. I may have salivated a little. I was going to actually ride this puppy and not just on a closed set.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no.” Steve had eyes at the back of his head. Or, he just knew me really well.

“Aw, c’mon. I never get to—”

“Nope. You’ll ride behind me _and_ you’ll wear a helmet.”

“How come you aren’t wearing—”

Steve stared at me without blinking. I sighed and begrudgingly pulled on the helmet then settled in on the extension seat. With Steve in his aviators and me with the helmet’s visor, no one would’ve ever guessed that we were two Captain Americas.

Steve rode like a demon. More appropriately, like he never actually learned how to legally ride a motorcycle. It was spectacular. Except for the traffic—that was not so spectacular. Almost all of the roads and lanes that we needed were closed due to the recent bombs and car crashes caused by the chase. The D.C. Metro police were up in arms trying to corral drivers effected by the blockage. We weaved in and out through traffic—which was highly illegal.

Who’d’a thunk it. Steve Rogers, a rule breaker.

Note the sarcasm again, Agent Hill.

But even with all of the short cuts, it still took us close to an hour to drive to a place that should’ve taken less than 20 minutes to get to. Looking back, it would’ve been easier if we walked instead. But, you know what they say about hindsight….

“There’s a Medical Center up on Irving St. I’ll try there first.” Steve turned to me at a stoplight. I nodded along as if I knew where anything was in D.C. and that was of significance to me. I figured we’d find Sam Wilson eventually. If Steve could find him by himself in a movie, then surely we could find him together in real life.

We pulled up to a massive hospital.

“Maybe I should go in? See if Sam is even working here?”

Steve nodded and said he would stay by the bike. I hurried in in full Cap-mode. I thought if people recognized me, I might as well go all the way.

The lady at the front desk was kind and quick, even though she was a little star-struck. I couldn’t say I was surprised, because I prepared for it, but I was rather shocked at the sudden awareness that I got from the families loitering in the waiting room. It made me feel like I was back home—even though fan encounters are not something I particularly enjoy on a daily basis.

Unfortunately, the hospital had no record of a Sam Wilson on their roster. He had been there three years back (I assumed as a patient, since she couldn’t divulge that information), but wasn’t registered as an employee. I thought about the fact that the secretary really wasn’t legally allowed to offer that amount of detail about a former patient and assumed employee. But since I was wearing Cap’s honest face, I could get away with anything I wanted. With a shy smile, she gave me the name of a Community Resource and Referral Center on Franklin that we could check out instead, so it wasn’t a wasted venture. Besides, it was silly to think we’d find him on the first try.

I gave Steve the run-down and we set off for Franklin St. This clinic was much smaller and much more intimate. It was a quaint brick building in a safe-looking residential area. I had a feeling that we hit the jackpot with this one.

I did the same thing as the last time—which was easier since I had practice from before.

And whad’ya know? Sam Wilson was a registered employee _and_ was coincidentally leading a group session in fifteen minutes.

I ran back to Steve to let him know the good news. It looked like he was busy texting Tony. He was surprisingly distracted when I relayed the info, with half of his focus on his phone.

“Aren’t you gonna go in and talk with Sam? We need him on our team.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve shook his head without looking at me. “Natasha was letting me know about the supposed terrorist attack in downtown D.C. She knows Fury was the target.” He stopped and I gestured for him to go on. “It’s just a lot to take in. All those people that meaninglessly died…and _could’ve_ died…. And….Bucky was right there and we could’ve….”

“Hey, we talked about this. We couldn’t stop this one. We were too late. Besides, the Winter Soldier is with his handlers right now. We need to get him isolated. The perfect time to save him is tonight. He’ll be alone on the roof and we’ll have the cover of darkness to keep our secret.”

Steve glared at the ground and shoved his phone in his pocket. He wasn’t in any frame of mind to talk with Sam. We both knew it.

“I’ll just pop in then….” I trailed off awkwardly. I had the feeling that _he_ probably needed to talk to Sam more than I did, but I didn’t want to make him do something he didn’t want to. I also didn’t feel right using my new mind control powers against him—not that they even work that way, but you get what I mean. Steve was in a deep dark place and I could only try to ease him out of it slowly. I had hoped that he would be more forward in trying to get better and would open up to Sam. But I was wrong. He wasn’t ready for that quite yet.

And really, I reasoned to myself at the time, it was probably for the best that I handled the conversation with Sam since I was already comfortable enough with Anthony Mackie’s gregarious personality. How could Sam Wilson be any different?

The answer is, by a _lot_.

I was the first one to sit down for the meeting and already felt like an imposter, sitting alone in the wide oak-paneled room. I had never served in the military. I knew lots of guys and could draw on their stories if it came down to it, but I hadn’t actually _lived_ through it like they did.

A group of men and women who clearly knew one another shuffled in. They didn’t pay me much mind, but one woman in an army green rain jacket took notice of me. Her eyes widened and she greeted me kindly, “Hi, I’m Carol. Is this your first time? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

I was glad that she didn’t immediately seek me out as a Captain America. I shook her hand as Steve and exchanged small talk that didn’t require me to reveal a lot about myself.

Then it dawned on me. I didn’t have to necessarily _lie_ about my supposed military experience, because I basically _was_ Cap. I already knew more about him than his own mother did. I had experienced his entire life in a blink of an eye the first time we mentally connected. I let out a sigh of relief at this realization because it made my job much easier.

I love those moments—the moments when all your needless worry is cast aside by a flash of brilliance.

Then Sam Wilson walked in calmly and quietly—almost the exact opposite of Mackie—at 4:30 on the dot. He looked us over in a way that signaled that he thought about each one of us every day.

“I see some new faces, so I’ll start at the beginning.” He started, “This is a place where we are all in the same boat, experiencing the same trip together under the same weather, but we are all experiencing it in different compartments on that boat. We haven’t all been there and done that, but we _have_ seen there and come back. So please don’t feel obliged to share today, if you’re not ready. You can work on that in your own time, but I’d like to talk one-on-one with you when we end.” Sam glanced at me knowingly but without judgment. I sat there wishing Steve was in my place. _He_ was the one that needed to hear this. I thought about leaving and switching out with him, but I knew that it wouldn’t be appreciated.

Sam continued on to open the floor for members to share their experiences during the past week. Some were proud to have accomplished mundane tasks that I took for granted. One woman stuck out to me because she met her goal of staying in a crowded supermarket for at least twenty minutes. Everyone else nodded approvingly. Others weren’t so upbeat. They all described the same underlying fear of being out of control in their civilian lives. They all desperately wanted to regain a sense of safety again and it haunted them with each decision that they made every single day.

I couldn’t empathize with their situations, but I sympathized entirely with their movement towards bettering themselves.

This went on until 5:30. Sam closed out by letting them know about the emotional baggage that they brought with them into their daily lives was like a concealed weapon—it could hurt other people, but only they know that they’re carrying it and only they could decide on how to carry it. “And one day, you won’t have to take it everywhere. But for now, it’s there.”

It wasn’t a particularly happy note to end on, but it was hopeful. Everyone got up with a little more spring in their step. I looked around at the people on their way out and took note of the fact that Sam Wilson said exactly what they needed to hear.

“Look who it is: The Running Man.” Sam said with a smile and sat down in the folding chair next to me. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yeah….This was all…intense.”

“Well, that’s what the transition to civilian life is like. There’s no easy way to sugar-coat it. I try to talk as rationally about our problems. I didn’t get that from anybody for the longest time when I got back. And I figure I should give back what I wanted and needed when I was struggling. It gives me purpose.” Sam sat back, exuding calmness. It was clear that he was talking so I didn’t have to. I thought about Steve again and how he was missing this perfect opportunity to share with someone who understood his pain.

“So what about you? What gives you purpose?” Sam’s voice echoed slightly in the empty room.

Images, smells, and sounds of Brooklyn, Azano, and London ran through my head. Steve’s art once gave him purpose, but then it became the war and then it was finding Bucky; then when he was gone, it was ending HYDRA. Now Steve’s purpose was simply _finding_ purpose. He lived on a precipice of knowing that he had already _outlived_ his purpose by 70 years.

So I answered honestly, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“I tell this to everyone who comes in here. It sounds corny, but that doesn’t make it any less true: You can do whatever you set your mind to. What makes you happy?”

“I don’t know that either. At least…not anymore.”

Comprehension dawned on Sam’s face. “I lost someone too. My wingman, Riley. It was a standard mission, nothing we hadn’t already done, yet I still had to watch him fall.”

His words hit me with immediate clarity. I’d never had an epiphany until that moment in time. Steve had watched Bucky fall and he saw it over and over again in his nightmares. It was what kept him from sleeping. It was why he ran so early in the morning and jumped out of planes without a parachute; it was to get away from the feeling of falling out of control. He was just like the other veterans in the meeting.

The realization that I couldn’t keep up this charade hit me all at once. Sam deserved better and he deserved to know that I wasn’t Steve Rogers.

“Listen, I’m not the only one who needs to be a part of this conversation. There’s someone else that needs this far more than I do.”

Sam cracked a smile, but looked skeptical, “I can’t think of anyone who needs to talk about what the war did to them more than Captain America.”

There was no delicate way to phrase it, so the whole thing came spilling out, “I’m not him. Captain America, I mean. I’m not Steve Rogers either. I’m from another universe. In that universe, I’m an actor playing Steve Rogers.” Sam blinked and looked away, slowing taking in the information. It was a long second before he motioned for me to continue.

“But the real Steve is outside. He thought it was for the best that I come in instead. But what you said in the meeting and what you’re saying to me now would really help him. He’s in a very volatile place right now and I think you could be just what he needs. We could also really use your military expertise. I know that you with the Falcon program and we would like to utilize that background to its fullest potential.

“So, I’m basically asking you to quit your day job and come psychoanalyze Captain America while doing some crime fighting on the side.”

There was a pregnant pause. It was a gamble to be sure, but I had hope that someone from a world of superheroes, aliens, and Norse gods would understand my story and accept my offer.

After all that waiting, Sam simply said, “Can I get a name? Or should I just call you, ‘Brotha from Anotha’?”

I hadn’t quite expected that, so I retorted, “Anotha what?”

“Universe, I guess.”

I clapped my hands together in a sigh of relief. Laughter bubbled up at the thought of what I was doing: talking to The Falcon about joining the Avengers.

“I’m Chris, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet ‘cha, Chris, I’m Sam. When do we start?”

“We just did.” And we shook on it.


End file.
